"My father owned a waste disposal company," he
began, "we had a contract with the government to get rid of toxic oil.
Then when the fuel prices hit and the price of oil rose my father
thought 'Why run all this perfectly good oil through a high temperature
incinerator and get rid of it, when it would burn just as well in power
plants?' He knew an oil supplier, talked with him, and made a
deal. We had a man at the railroad yard switch the tags on the tank
cars, marked them as oil additive for industrial oil, and we mixed the
toxic waste with fuel oil. At first we sold it just to power
plants, but then the demand became greater and greater. We found
there were other waste products that were also burnable, and we started
adding them to the mix. We found that they not only worked in
fuel oil for the power plants but for houses too. Then we found some
of it could even be added to gasoline. We were making a fortune,
MILLIONS a month, which we were putting into Caribbean bank accounts.
Then some kids that lived near a power plant got
leukemia, and a Spiritist doctor noticed traces of toxins in their
blood. He traced it to the fuel oil. They arrested the
distributor and charged him with murder. He panicked and betrayed my
father and everybody else. They charged my father with
murder. But we had a good lawyer. He pleaded that all the
evidence against my father was circumstantial, couldn't be proven, and
even if it could, it could not be proven that the toxic waste was
actually responsible for the children's deaths. It was all
hypothetical.
He got my father off, but the government fired
him. The community shunned him. Friends we'd had for years
wouldn't have anything to do with us any more.
One afternoon my father and his lawyer were sitting
in a restaurant having lunch when the father of one of the dead kids
walked in. He never said a word, he just walked up to my father and his
lawyer, and shot them, murdered them right there in front of my mother
and our lawyer's wife, then put the gun in his mouth and shot himself.
We tried to prove that The Spir had been
responsible, that they had put the guy up to it. They took care
of his wife and kids, gave them an income for the rest of their lives,
but nobody would listen, everybody said it was something that couldn't
be proved. The man had just been a distraught father. It
couldn't be proven The Spiritists had arranged my father's murder.
Then the men came to my mother. They told her
they knew about the millions in the bank accounts, that there were
other irate fathers ready to avenge their children and if she
didn't want something to happen to her and her children she'd better
give every bit of that money to charities. They gave her a list
with suggestions on how much she should give to each.
The rest of the family tried to convince her not to
do it, but my mother was scared. The Spir panicked her. So she
gave all our money away...not only the money from the recycling, but
the rest of the family's money as well. We didn't get a penny!
So here I am. I intend to get even
tomorrow. I'd never have had to pull the scams that got me in
jail if I'd had my share of that money! The Spir are
garbage! They won't leave other people alone. They won't
let them make a buck. They won't be so high and mighty when WE
get through with them. I'm not a scared old woman. I'll
fight the damned animals! Damn, will I fight!"
"Right on!" somebody cried "Right on!"
"What about you Wellington?" the lieutenant
finished. "What brought you accrossed the Atlantic? What
did The Spir do to you in merry old England?"
